


Regarding Late Suppers and Solace

by the_dala



Series: Regarding This and That [3]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26063902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: “You are not a fool, James,” Groves protests hotly. He curls his tongue around Norrington’s given name and fears some witchcraft in Elizabeth Swann, a trace of it left behind on paper. He can find no other excuse for his boldness. “If it is folly to love, then let us all be guilty.”
Relationships: Theodore Groves/James Norrington
Series: Regarding This and That [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/254833
Kudos: 13





	Regarding Late Suppers and Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Finally getting back to archiving my old Pirates fic - this was originally published March 23rd, 2005. Third and final part of "Regarding This and That."

For the entire afternoon following Elizabeth Swann’s disappearance, Commodore Norrington is holed up in his office with the governor. Gillette, relieving Groves from duty at seven o’clock, mentions that the commodore has eaten nothing all day. They exchange a resigned glance and Groves makes his way to the kitchens. It takes a good few minutes of pleading before the fort’s cook will make him a plate; he doesn’t dare name its intended recipient for fear of even more talk about Norrington’s mental state.

Balancing the tray on one arm, he raps on the door, then tugs his jacket straighter. Curse these bloody nerves. A year in Port Royal and the man still turns his knees to jelly.

“Enter,” Norrington calls.

When Groves obeys, he sees that his superior’s face is as weary as his voice. His skin is slightly discolored as though he’s spent a good deal of time resting his head in his hands. He is remarkably unkempt: coat flung over the back of his chair, cravat loose, wig abandoned to a rack. It does nothing to ease the tightness at the corners of his eyes.

Norrington sighs his gratitude as Groves hands him the plate. “Thank you, Theodore. I’d forgotten to order supper.” His mouth twists wryly. “Or luncheon, or tea, for that matter.”

“It was no trouble,” says Groves, setting the plate down on his desk. He stands to one side, watching out of the corner of his eye as Norrington picks at the roasted pork.

After a moment, green eyes slant up at him. “You may take your leave, Lieutenant.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Groves replies, staring straight ahead at the wall, “I’d just as soon stay until you are finished.”

Norrington sits back in his chair. Groves can feel the keen gaze fixed on him, though he looks no higher than the fork poised above the plate.

“There is no need,” says Norrington, a shade of indignation in his quiet voice. “I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, you know.”

“Of course,” says Groves evenly. After another moment of watching him warily, Norrington goes back to his meal. Only then does Groves dare to look at him. The disheveled appearance is the result of today’s troubles, but the dark color beneath his eyes, the way his shirt hangs too loosely from his shoulders – not a new development at all. It has something to do with Elizabeth Swann, true, but there is more behind it – what happened at the hidden island, which the men will only speak of in whispers and Norrington will not speak of at all, and the business with Jack Sparrow. Groves is certainly not the only one who has noticed, but he doubts anyone else finds himself haunted by thoughts of Norrington’s demons every night.

For a long time he is left alone to his watch and the scrape of silverware on china. Then Norrington says, “She put on a good show, didn’t she?”

“She did at that, sir,” Groves agrees after a confused pause. The girl, of course; it always comes back to the girl. He wishes he could hate the governor’s daughter, not only for rejecting Norrington’s suit months ago, but for stirring new hope in his distant eyes these past few weeks. Weeping, pacing, railing against Will Turner for running out on her – Elizabeth Swann would have made an excellent actress in some other life.

He wishes he could hate her for the deception, but the truth is, he envies her nerve. She didn’t find what she was looking for in the place she’d been born, so she left it for a new place, a new self. In the note now sitting on Norrington’s desk, wrinkled by the governor’s clutch, she indicated that Will Turner was not the chief impetus in her decision. Groves believes it. The townspeople whispered about their scandalous engagement, but they’ve been whispering about Miss Swann for years. If Norrington ever noticed, he showed no sign of it. Had they married, Groves is sure, the gossip would never dare to reach his ears.

“I simply fail to understand –” Norrington breaks off, shaking his head. He has only eaten half his supper, but Groves thinks he might need to unburden his thoughts more than he needs the nourishment. “Elizabeth – Miss Swann is an intelligent young woman, though she was always rash, and I was sure she’d learned something about the ways of the world after the...the incident. Then she goes and does a thing like this and I realize that despite it all, she is still ruled by her heart, not her head.”

 _Her head would have had her choose you,_ Groves thinks sadly. But he still feels obliged to give the girl some credit. “Do you believe, sir, that she acted without any thought at all to the consequences? It appears she made plans, after all, and she did leave a note explaining things.”

“She can’t have thought it through properly,” says Norrington, a bit sharply, “or else she’d never have chosen to seek such an uncertain, dangerous life, with Turner and Sparrow or without them.”

Groves keeps his own tone mild, noting how Norrington is fretfully wringing the cloth napkin in his lap. “Perhaps she understands the perils inherent in that life and seeks it regardless, weighing freedom over danger .”

“And that ought to have been her primary concern?” In Norrington’s mouth, the words sound like something covered in ashes. His face is tight and his eyes shine with belligerence.

Groves knows he ought to back down immediately, but he hasn’t seen his commander express such emotion in a long time, and he cannot resist prodding further. “Is it so wrong a thing to seek?”

“At the expense of duty and obligation, yes,” Norrington retorts, shoulders rigid against the back of his chair.

The argument rises from somewhere low in his belly, bursting forth with passion. “But all duties are not the same. Miss Swann may feel that duty to her heart is more important than duty to her father and her country...” He halts, realizing his voice has risen inexcusably. Norrington’s eyebrows are lifted in surprise at this unusual display from the most level temper among all his men.

Groves casts his gaze to the floor, ashamed of having lost control. What he’s already said is bad enough, but there is much worse he could have revealed. “I must apologize, sir. I have – forgotten myself. I meant no disrespect with my imprudent words.”

“It’s of no consequence, Theodore. I have always encouraged you to be frank with me.” When he glances up again, Norrington’s face has returned to its usual strained mask. Groves winces at that look.

“But it is – again, forgive me – it is meant out of honesty. And – and concern.” He purses his lips, wondering if by welding them shut, he might force himself into silence.

Norrington blinks at him. “Oh?”

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ thinks Groves. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Just because you do not share your troubles, sir, doesn’t mean others are blind. I have nothing but respect for your dedication to your post, but no one would think poorly of you if you were to take some time for yourself.” He waits for Norrington to dismiss him, to change the subject, but the other man is merely watching him.

“I spend every hour of the day with myself, Lieutenant.” It sounds like the darkest of tasks, the way he says it.

“With another, then.” The words start to tumble from his lips, bouncing off the silent hollows in the dim room. “When you were first courting Miss Swann, you were – lightened. More than once I saw you smile. It would please me to know that her treatment of you has not hardened you to the charms of other companions.”

Norrington cants his head to one side, observing without reacting. “Is that how you see me? A man without joy or warmth in his life?”

Groves feels his heart beating a tattoo within his chest, violent for being so long suppressed. Norrington is looking at him – just at _him_ , nothing else. Groves has never seen him without his attention forcibly splintered, without a dozen things or more plainly on his mind. “More a man who will not let himself desire simple human contact, even conversation, because it would leave him vulnerable.”

At this a muscle in Norrington’s jaw twitches. His eyes drift to the farewell note in India ink, warmed by lamplight to the color of his rich dark hair . “Vulnerable to being made a fool, you mean.”

“You are not a fool, James,” Groves protests hotly. He curls his tongue around Norrington’s given name and fears some witchcraft in Elizabeth Swann, a trace of it left behind on paper. He can find no other excuse for his boldness. “If it is folly to love, then let us all be guilty.”

Norrington’s arm slides across the desk, linen whispering faintly, until his fingers brush Groves’ whitened knuckles. He wasn’t aware of gripping the edge of the desk in his insistence, but now he lets his hand relax, half from the cramping pain and half from shock.

“Shall I call you out as guilty, Theodore?” Norrington asks so quietly Groves can scarcely hear him.

The warmth of his touch should have been taken away – should not have been there at all – yet it remains. “Sir, I –”

“Do you think I don’t see how you look at me?”

If he moves but a fraction, his hand could stretch over Norrington’s.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbles, staring down, his borrowed courage failing him at last.

“Theodore,” Norrington says with gentle reproval, and Groves can’t move, must let him reach for this on his own. Norrington does – _thank God, thank God in heaven_ – and just like that Groves is in his arms, hands going immediately to the thick, impractical queue. He wends his fingers in Norrington’s hair and leans into him, nose pressed to his cheek.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Groves wants to know after he’s taken sufficient time to recover.

“I didn’t feel it was right, being above you the way I –” He breaks off at Groves’ chuckle, allowing a half-smile. “Besides, I needed to be certain.”

“Especially after...” Groves swallows the rest of his sentence, hoping he hasn’t overstepped this shifting boundary, but Norrington only nods.

“Yes.” Norrington’s hands stroke up and down his back in a steady rhythm before coming up to frame his face. Anxiety brightens his eyes, which seem a sharper green than Groves remembers, but perhaps it is only that he’s never been so close before. “You’re very still. I haven’t made a grievous mistake after all, have I?”

Incredulous that he could still think so, Groves sets about reassuring him. He is surprised to find that Norrington doesn’t kiss as he commands; it seems he likes to be coaxed, teased, tweaked.

Norrington surges up suddenly, pushing against his onslaught. Groves smiles into the shape of his mouth and begins to understand why Norrington’s melancholy burns off on the days they catch sight of Sparrow’s ship. He hitches one leg, lifts up, clings to slim hips –

– and lands squarely in the stewed greens.

“The knife!” he yelps, launching off the desk. Norrington backs away, brow furrowed.

“Did it stick you?” He lays a broad, warm palm on Groves’ arm.

“Well, no,” says Groves sulkily, rubbing his backside, “but it might have.”

Norrington takes in such an odd, hiccuping breath that Groves worries he has choked on something. He has both hands on Norrington’s shoulders before he realizes the movement beneath his fingers is laughter.

He’s never heard Norrington laugh before. Somehow he can take everything else in stride, including the kisses, but this unexpected mirth shocks him out of speech.

The commodore chuckles himself into collapse, sinking back into his chair with a gasp. After brushing off the seat of his breeches one last time, Groves drops onto his lap.

It's the first time he has made Norrington laugh, but by no means will it be the last.


End file.
